Kids Poems » The Little Gleaner

Whilst here we're busy gleaning -
The little birds and I, -
The heavy sheaves are leaning
Together, bright and dry.
The word that God hath spoken
In favor of the poor,
So kindly, can't be broken ;
It is forever sure !

'Tis he who hath commanded
The reaper of the grain,
When going oft full-handed,
To let some ears remain.
By this our Heavenly Father,
Reveals it, as his will,
That we some bread may gather,
Who have no fields to till.

The little birds and mother
And I are poor indeed !
And I've an infant brother
For her to tend and feed.
So I, their little Lizzie,
Do all that in me lies,
By keeping ever busy,
To furnish their supplies.

My father, gone to Heaven,
Our wants he does not know :
And leave to me is given
To glean the fields below.
And want will ne'er destroy us.
While these young hands can toil;
And mother talk so joyous
About the widow's oil !

The widow that we read of,
Who baked the "little cake "
From meal herself had need of,
For good Elijah's sake !
She could not send, without it,
The stranger off distressed
But you know all about it;
How God her barrel blessed !

When all alone I'm gleaning,
I fancy I can feel
And understand the meaning
Of that increase of meal.
Our God will ne'er forsake us
Till we forsake his way !
And here's enough to make us
Our little cake to-day.